'Someone will see,' Laurel whispered, her breath hitching, but she didn't move.
'See what?' Cristiano stroked her thigh again, letting his fingers slide just that little bit higher. Her skin felt like cool silk. 'We're just sitting here, chatting.' And, from the outside, that indeed looked like all they were doing. Their bodies blocked the view of Cristiano's hand where it was inching inexorably higher.
'Maybe, but…' Laurel shifted, giving him greater access—intentionally or not? Cristiano didn't know and he wondered if Laurel even knew. This was new territory for her and, he was realising more and more, new territory for him. Which made him all the more determined to put their relationship back onto familiar footing. Incredible sex and nothing more.
'But what?' Cristiano prompted softly. His fingers climbed higher, to the warm apex of her thighs, and Laurel let out a shuddering gasp as he stroked her knowingly.
'But…' Her voice trailed away as her eyes fluttered closed and she slouched in her seat, helpless to do anything but respond to his touch. Desire and triumph roared through him in a primal, possessive wave.
'But nothing,' Cristiano murmured as he continued to stroke. 'Nothing but this.'
'May I refresh your champagne?'
The bright, chirpy voice of the flight attendant had Laurel freezing, her eyes snapping open as she stared at the woman in shock, sprawled in her seat, her legs parted.
Cristiano withdrew his hand and straightened, giving the woman a smile as he reached for his glass. 'Why not?' he said. They could finish what they'd started when they reached Paris. Although his body ached with the need to slake himself with Laurel, he knew the few hours of delaying satisfaction would be a delicious torment for them both.
Laurel straightened, pulling her dress down, then taking a sip of her champagne, clearly trying to restore her composure. 'Do you do that kind of thing very often?' she asked unsteadily, and Cristiano hesitated.
Was she going to be jealous about the other women he'd had, insecure because of his experience and the lack of her own? But if he admitted that he hadn't done this before—that he never did anything that threatened his control of a situation, that she was the only one who made him act in a way he never would have expected—would she then assume that she was different from all the rest? That he would be different with her?
'Not very often,' he answered with a wicked smile and took a sip of champagne. Laurel nodded and sipped her own champagne, and Cristiano could tell his answer disappointed her, if just a little.
But it was important to remind her that this was an affair, two weeks of fantastic sex and absolutely no strings. Hell, Cristiano acknowledged moodily as he drained his glass, it seemed he needed the reminder as well.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LAUREL GAZED OUT of the window of her bedroom in the hotel suite of La Sirena, Paris as twilight settled softly over the City of Lights. They'd arrived several hours ago, and from the moment she'd stepped off the plane to now she'd been pampered, indulged and, yes, made love to.
They'd taken a limo from the airport to the hotel, and then the concierge had personally escorted them to the luxurious suite that Cristiano reserved for his personal use. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Cristiano had reached for her, kissing her hungrily as if it had been months rather than mere hours since they'd last been together.
And yet Laurel was hungry for him, ravenous, especially after the appetiser he'd teased her with on the plane. Just the memory of his knowing fingers climbing higher while people near them read newspapers or sipped champagne made Laurel blush and fidget. It had been utterly thrilling.
In the hotel suite he'd backed her towards the bedroom, tugging down the zip of her dress in one fluid movement and then helping her step out of it without missing a single stride. Laurel had walked backwards slowly, wearing only her bra and pants, her eyes glued to Cristiano as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it.
She didn't think she'd ever tire of looking at him: the ridged muscles of his abdomen; the bronzed, burnished skin; the flare of heat in those silvery eyes. She could hardly believe that a man like this, a man who radiated such a powerful sexual charisma, wanted her.